


all those who wander are not lost

by gracelinne



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, in which percy and annabeth watch lord of the rings together, weyhey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracelinne/pseuds/gracelinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Percy has been playing the guitar in the common room for like five hours, it’s three o’clock in the morning, and Annabeth has come to tell him to shut the fuck up</p>
            </blockquote>





	all those who wander are not lost

See, CalTech is really, really nice.  Annabeth is there for a summer program -- something her father had signed her up for and she was sure she was going to hate, but she actually really likes it.  There’s a heavy emphasis on architecture and engineering, which she loves, and the group she’s in (they call themselves the Wrights, after Frank Lloyd -- apparently she’s not the only architecture geek) is sharing a spacious dorm with a marine biology group called the Nereids. 

The courses are fascinating, and even though Annabeth’s not a biology kind of person, she can see the merit of learning it here.

Incidentally, she holds a sea cucumber for the first time and touches a starfish.  Her uncle, who is a professional marine photographer, would be proud.

The only issue is that lying here in the dark in her dorm, her roommate Rachel snoring quietly, silver moonlight spilling across her pillow, Annabeth can’t sleep.  It’s not due to stress or anxiety, though -- it’s the third night of a two-week long program, and it’s the third night of sleeplessness thanks to some asshole who’s been playing the guitar out in the common room for five hours.

Annabeth checks her clock.  The glowing red numbers burn a permanent 3:17 AM onto her eyelids when she blinks, and she’s finally fed up with this jackass.

She throws the covers back, off her legs, and slips silently out of bed.  Rachel doesn’t even budge, her vibrant red curls strewn chaotically over her pillow and freckles starkly illuminated by the moonlight.  She’s an art student who somehow ended up with the engineering group.  Annabeth feels a little bad for her -- she managed to drop a live wire into a fish tank on the first day, successfully frying all the poor guppies.

The hall seems longer than it did at daylight.  Annabeth snags a cardigan from her suitcase and wraps it securely around her.  It might be July, but it’s chilly at night.  The carpet is rough against her bare toes, but she hangs her key lanyard around her neck (it’s a Slytherin one, a gift from her best friend Thalia) and closes the door behind her with a quiet _snick_.

Annabeth hasn’t really had time to check out the common room.  She’s been here for three days and most of the time she’s been in courses or extracurricular seminars, furiously taking notes, and when she’s not learning, she’s curled up in her bedroom, Skyping with Thalia or using the 3D modeling software her dad let her download to create whole cityscapes and skylines.  All in all, it’s pretty cool.

But the common room really is something to behold.  Dark wood paneled walls, buttery leather couches, and a massive flatscreen TV all make the room seem like it should house millionaires, not a sleep-deprived teenage girl and a mussed, black-haired teenage boy with an acoustic guitar.

Annabeth can feel her anger coming to a head, so she clears her throat and waits for the boy to notice her.  He glances up and she immediately feels terrible.

He’s tanned, paler than she is but still with a healthy glow to his skin, with messy black hair and sharp but friendly features.  His eyes are pretty -- sea-green, she thinks, fringed with thick dark eyelashes and framed by strong brows.  They’re also circled with some of the darkest purple bags Annabeth’s ever seen.  It looks almost like he was punched in the face, but he grins up at her, a lopsided, crooked grin that shouldn’t be allowed at  -- Annabeth checks her watch -- 3:21 in the morning.

“Sorry, but did you want something?” he asks politely, and it takes her a minute to realize she’s just been staring, analyzing him like he’s a math problem.

“Your guitar playing,” she says shortly.  In her defense, she’s sleep-deprived and she doesn’t really have it in her to be nice to this guy, even if he is cute.  “No matter how good it is, it’s keeping me up.”  She feels even more terrible when an expression of genuine apologetic concern crosses his face.

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry,” he tells her, eyebrows drawing together.  She shrugs noncommittally.

“It’s okay, just keep it down a little.”  She turns to go back to her dorm room but he says something before she can leave.

“You’re in the Wrights group?” he asks, like he actually cares.  

“Yeah.  Are you one of the Nereids or whatever?” Annabeth asks.  He nods.

“I’m Percy, by the way.”  Annabeth files this away for future reference.

“Annabeth,” she tells him, pulling her cardigan closer around her.  His eyes light up and he flashes that lopsided smile at her.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Annabeth.”  

She sleeps better that night than she does at home.

 

The next day’s courses are on infrastructure, wiring, and the infamous octopus (Annabeth gets to see it screw open a jar from the inside and escape, which is cool and slightly terrifying -- she’s pretty sure it could find her and kill her in her sleep).  There’s also a team exercise where four people all have to ride horses (Annabeth is terrified of horses) in formations.  No one ever tells them why it’s important to know.  She’s exhausted by the time she gets back to her room, flopping down on her bed and waiting for dinner.

“Tired?”  It’s Rachel, back from her rigorous stint on the climbing wall.  Annabeth has no idea how that’s in any way related to engineering, but she doesn’t question it.  Rachel has her messy hair piled on top of her head and speared through with two or three elaborately carved wooden chopsticks.  It’s almost cool looking.

“So exhausted,” Annabeth groans into her pillow.  She winces to hear her voice -- her team had consisted of a weedy boy named Grover, a broad-shouldered, loud girl named Clarisse, and a kid who she actually quite liked named Malcolm, and they’d been so off-course most of the time that they shot their vocal cords shouting directions at each other.  It had been chaos.

“Well, it’s taco night,” Rachel tells her, as if that should perk her up.  And -- well, it actually kind of does.

 

Dinner’s good, like it always is.  Rachel sits with Annabeth and a few people from other groups come over -- a pair of boys named Connor and Travis Stoll, a girl named Silena Beauregard.  The tacos are good, with choices of beef, turkey, or fish.  Annabeth chooses turkey.

One of the Stoll brothers spills his orange juice across his plate and starts squishing all his food together into this beige mush.  Annabeth wrinkles her nose and gets up to dump her tray.  The massive trash can in the corner is gross, all covered with taco sauce and limp green beans.  She fits her tray into the stack next to the can and moves on, intending to go back to her room for some peace and quiet.

And then she slams into someone.  They’re tall enough that her head bounces off the sharp corner of their shoulder and she staggers backward, almost losing her balance completely.  She looks up to apologize and her eyes meet sea-green ones.

“Annabeth!  I’m so sorry!” he exclaims, because of course it’s Percy.  Annabeth hadn’t noticed how tall he was the night before, probably because he was folded practically in half around his guitar.  But yeah, he’s really tall.

“No, it’s totally fine, it was my fault anyway,” Annabeth tells him, laughing a little and shaking her head.

“No, that was all me, I’m so sorry,” he says again, bending down a little to check her temple.  “That’s definitely going to bruise.  I feel awful.”  And Annabeth must have a concussion or something, because her eyes linger on Percy’s green ones.

“I’m completely fine.  I should probably just get to bed,” she says, smiling.

“Really?  It’s eight-thirty,” Percy says, eyebrows contracting.  Annabeth almost laughs, because he looks so _serious_.  

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep much last night.  I’m pretty tired.”  

“Well, at least let me walk you back to your room.  I feel terrible about your . . . you know,” he gestures to her temple and Annabeth really does laugh this time.

“Yeah, sure, walk me back,” she says.  He does, hands deep in the pockets of his ratty blue hoodie.

When they get to her door and she pulls her lanyard out from under her shirt, his eyes light up.

“You’re a Harry Potter fan?” he asks excitedly.  Annabeth scoffs a little.

“Who _isn’t_?” she asks, and he nods consent. 

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” he tells her, pulling a keychain from his pocket and showing her the little blue and gold eagle crest.  It’s hanging right next to a Lego figure of Gandalf the Grey.

“You know, I’ve never seen Lord of the Rings,” Annabeth says, and Percy steps back, hand on his chest like he’s never been more offended.

“Okay, that’s it.  I’m giving you my number,” he pulls out a pen and scrawls ten digits on the back of her hand, “and when these two weeks are over we’re going to get together and we’re going to watch those movies.  Promise?”

“Promise,” Annabeth tells him, laughing, “but I live in San Francisco.  And judging by the Yankees keychain, you’re from . . . New York?” 

“You are a master detective, Annabeth Chase,” Percy says as she finally unlocks her door.

“I never told you my last name,” she says curiously as she steps inside.

“Ah, yes, that’s the thing you don’t know about me, wise girl.  I am also a master detective,” Percy grins, and his smiling face is the last thing Annabeth sees when she closes the door, rolling her eyes.

And if she programs his number into her phone that night before she goes to bed, no one has to know.  

 

The guitar playing in the common room has stopped, like Percy promised it would, but Annabeth still can’t sleep.  It’s too silent.  She slips out of bed again and pads her way into the common room, feet bare and lanyard around her neck.  Just like she had last night, she finds Percy there, this time curled up with a computer.  He looks up, startled.

“Annabeth Chase,” he says, and she smiles tiredly at him.

“I can’t sleep again,” she tells him, sliding onto the couch next to him.  He looks worried.

“It’s not anything I did, is it?  Am I being too loud?” he asks, and she shakes her head.  

“Do you have a way of finding movies online?”  Percy nods and pulls up an orange website with a picture of a TV set at the top.  “You could show me Lord of the Rings if you want.”  He types in the title and clicks on a link.

The movie starts, and Annabeth curls herself closer in to Percy, who inhales sharply.  She looks up, wondering if she’s hurt him, but he shakes his head, still focused on the screen.

About halfway through the film, Annabeth starts to feel sleepy, and Percy’s draped his arm around her, so she settles her head onto his shoulder.  He’s warm, and smells salty like he’s just been surfing.  His skin smells like oranges.  It’s a little bit intoxicating.

“Percy?” Annabeth asks sleepily awhile later, and he shifts to turn his nose into her hair.

“Yes, wise girl?”  He sounds almost asleep, voice rough and slow.  It’s three o’clock in the morning and she’s curled up on a couch with a boy watching Lord of the Rings, and she’s fairly sure that’s not why her dad sent her to this program.

“How did you actually find out my full name?”  There’s a low chuckle, like he expected better of her, but he answers anyway.

“It’s on the plaque next to your door.  You and Rachel Elizabeth Dare.”  Oh.  _Oh._   And Annabeth feels stupid now, really and truly stupid.

“Oh,” Annabeth says, and Percy laughs.  

 

“Annabeth _fucking_ Chase!”  Annabeth startles awake, shooting upright and realizing, all in the span of a second, that she was sleeping pressed into Percy, with his arm curved tightly around her.  Rachel stands in front of her, hands on her hips, hair tumbling over her shoulders in a vibrant spray against her paint-splattered white cardigan.

“Morning, Rachel,” Annabeth says, rubbing her eyes.  Rachel raises her eyebrows, and Annabeth hears Percy waking up behind her.

“I wake up to find you gone, your bed empty -- I was worried, you asshole!” Rachel cries, punching Annabeth in the shoulder.  “And now you’re sleeping with a boy?  Who even are you?”  Annabeth raises her hands in surrender.

“In my defense, I’m not _sleeping with him_ , I’m just sleeping with him,” she says, and she realizes that doesn’t make sense, but Rachel’s expression clears a little bit.

“While that is a relief, it doesn’t excuse you,” she hisses, turning on her heel and stalking back down the hall towards their dorm.  Annabeth groans and flops backwards onto the couch, covering her face.  Percy stands and stretches, his t-shirt riding up and exposing a sliver of his stomach, and Annabeth turns away, feeling like she’s just intruded on his privacy.  

“So, wise girl, now that we’re sleeping together,” she sends a glare his way and he smirks, “we should probably know more about each other.  Like, what’s your favorite color?”  Annabeth raises her eyebrows.

“Lavender,” she says, standing up.  “Yours?”

“Blue,” he tells her.  She smiles.  

“We should get to breakfast.”  Breakfast is chocolate chip pancakes, which Annabeth learns is Percy’s favorite food.  It’s good.  He eats them soaked with butter and maple syrup, while she coats hers in a thin layer of Nutella.  They both end up with Nutella on their noses.

 

Late-night movie watching becomes something of a tradition with them, since neither of them seem to be able to fall asleep without the other.  Rachel often comes into the room and sees them curled together on Annabeth’s bed, both fast asleep, some Disney movie playing on Percy’s blue Macbook.  She’ll roll her eyes and pause the movie and go to bed herself, but she’s secretly glad Annabeth’s found someone to talk to besides her.  Rachel’s a little fed up with architecture talk.

Mostly they watch cheesy teenage girl movies and make fun of them -- Annabeth is happiest when it turns out Percy actually likes a few of them, cheering on the protagonists and booing the mean girls.  

Annabeth’s sadder than she thought she’d be when it’s time to leave, and she gets in her dad’s car reluctantly, after making Percy promise to text her all the time.  They exchange Skype usernames and friend each other on Facebook, making every effort to make sure they don’t lose touch.  

Annabeth’s last image of Percy is him standing there, his backpack slung over one shoulder, left hand holding a slip of paper that has her email on it and his right hand waving.  His face is forlorn, and just before the car turns a corner, Annabeth sees him lower his head and brush at his eyes.  

 

It’s surprisingly easy to go back to real life.  Annabeth goes back to work, at an American Eagle store in the mall.  She hates it, but apparently she looks sporty and fun, like the kind of person American Eagle wants people to see in their clothes.  

Her dad starts trying to get her to think about college -- after all, she is going into her senior year -- but she really just wants to go back to CalTech.  She knows it probably won’t happen, but it’s nice to dream.  

Eventually her dad gives in and buys her a plane ticket to New York (she doesn’t feel bad about it because he’s so damn loaded he has cars for her brothers and they’re only five).

 

“Dad, I’m going to be fine,” Annabeth insists, shouldering her backpack.  It’s her carry on, containing mostly just a couple books and her laptop.  Her dad presses his lips together, tears in his eyes, and hugs her, to her surprise.  Her dad’s never been the affectionate type of parent, but apparently he is now.  Who knew?

“I’m proud of you, Annabeth,” he tells her.  “Be safe in New York, okay?”  Annabeth nods.

“I’ve got that cat you got me,” she tells him, and it’s true -- he bought her a self-defense keychain in the shape of a cat, where she is supposed to put her fingers through the eye holes and use the sharp ears to stab anyone who tries to hurt her.  He’d  got her a blue one.  Her dad nods again and steps back, clapping her on the shoulder. 

“Have fun in New York, sweetie,” her dad tells her and she smiles, turning to walk into the waiting area.  When she glances back, her dad’s walking away, twirling his keys in his hand.  

 

The flight is crowded and far too long for Annabeth’s taste.  She reads two books (Divergent and Good Omens) and writes a full-length college essay before they land, and she rushes off the plane immediately behind a balding man sat two seats ahead of her.  Once she’s got her luggage, she hails a cab and reads the cabbie the address Percy had given her two months ago (for snail mail).  

The building Percy lives in is tall and made of brick, in a small back road.  There’s an iron fire escape laddering up the side, and a pair of glass doors at the front.  Annabeth thanks the cabbie, pays her, and pulls her suitcase across the cobbled street into the lobby of the apartment building.

“Can you tell me where Percy and Sally Jackson live?” she asks the doorman, who smiles warmly and tells her that they live on the fourth floor, apartment 401.  

The elevator ride is nerve-wracking, and she can feel her stomach doing flips.  Apartment 401’s door is painted a soft shade of blue, and Annabeth takes a deep breath  and then knocks.

“I got it, Mom,” calls Percy from inside, and Annabeth takes a sharp breath -- she hadn’t remembered exactly the cadence of his voice, and it hits her right in the sternum like someone threw a ball.  And then the doorknob is turning and Annabeth can’t breathe, really, and the door swings open.

“Hi,” she whispers, and the look of shock on Percy’s face is worth the six hour flight.

“Annabeth,” he says numbly, and she feels a bit bad for just showing up, but then a brilliant grin breaks across his face and he lunges forward and hugs her.  He has to curve down and she has to stretch up, but his arms are around her waist and her arms around his neck, and Annabeth can feel her eyes stinging.  She will _not_ cry, she wills herself not to.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here,” Percy mumbles into her shoulder.  She steps back and looks at him -- his eyes are shining too brightly to be normal.

“You still have to show me the rest of the Lord of the Rings, you idiot,” Annabeth says, grinning.

“Oh hey, can you stay with us?” Percy asks excitedly, noticing her suitcase behind her.  Annabeth nods and Percy grabs the suitcase, pulling it into the apartment and calling “Mom, we have a guest!”  When they round the corner, Annabeth comes face to face with a woman about her height with long brown hair and an open, smiling face.

“Who’s this?” she asks, and the words that would have sounded cutting coming from Annabeth’s stepmother merely sound curious from Mrs. Jackson.

“Mom, this is Annabeth.  Remember, the girl I told you about?” Percy says, glancing over at Annabeth and grinning.  Mrs. Jackson looks visibly relaxed, like she’s glad Percy knows this girl instead of just dragging in random strays.

“Of course!  Annabeth, I’m so glad to meet you,” Mrs. Jackson says, reaching out to hug Annabeth, who isn’t quite sure how to react.  

Percy and Annabeth retreat into Percy’s room, which is painted blue with a full-size bed in one corner and a fish tank in the other.  Percy puts Annabeth’s suitcase next to the tank and turns to face her, a massive smile on his face.

“You’re in New York,” he says giddily, seemingly unable to stop smiling.  She nods.  “How long are you staying?”

“Until Friday,” she replies, her right hand circling her left wrist.  

“It’s Tuesday,” he says, narrowing his eyes.  “Do you really only get, like, two full days here?”  She shrugs.

“It’s the only flight that goes straight from here to San Francisco,” she defends herself.  He grins.  

“Okay.  D’you want to watch a movie?”

They watch the second Lord of the Rings movie, and when Mrs. Jackson (“Call me Sally, dear, really!”) comes in to let them know it’s dinnertime, they’re curled so close together it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

 

Breakfast in the Jackson household is very different to breakfast at Annabeth’s house.  Sally lets Percy sleep in until ten (Annabeth sleeps in his bed, due to a fit of chivalry on Percy’s part; Percy sleeps on an air mattress on the floor), which is a shock to Annabeth -- her stepmother, Lena, makes everyone in the house go to bed at nine and wake up at five-thirty.  She says it’s “productive”.  

And Sally makes real breakfast, not any of that muesli granola bar stuff Annabeth’s stepmother is so fond of.  On Wednesday morning, she makes waffles (she makes her own whipped cream too), which for some reason are blue.  Percy grins when he sees the blue food.

“It’s an old thing,” he tells Annabeth with a mouthful of waffle, “my old stepdad had this idea that food couldn’t be blue, so ever since Mom’s gone out of her way to make food blue.  Like, blue birthday cake, blue lemonade, blue ice cream.  It’s starting to stain my teeth.”  The waffles are delicious, and Annabeth thinks it might be due to the fact that they’re blue.

Percy takes Annabeth on a tour later.  They don’t go see the major tourist attractions, though, like one would expect them to, but instead Percy takes her to little places he likes.  There’s one place called Gina’s Confectionary, which is run by a robust Italian lady who gives them each a cupcake (both blue -- what is it with blue in this town?) and they leave covered in powdered sugar.  The cupcake is the best one Annabeth has ever had.

“You’re sure this is where they filmed How I Met Your Mother?” Annabeth asks Percy skeptically, eyebrows raised at the seedy bar before them.  Percy shrugs.

“It looks vaguely How I Met Your Mother-ish,” he replies nonchalantly, turning and walking down the sidewalk.  Annabeth jogs to catch up.

“Alright, so which New York monument are we going to see next?” she asks, looking up at him.  He grins. 

“Dunkin Donuts.  I’m hungry and we both need caffeine.”

“You just ate breakfast _and_ a cupcake!” Annabeth protests.  

“Fine, we just need caffeine,” Percy shoots back, and buys them both these disgustingly sweet caramel swirl mochas.  The caffeine puts an extra spring in their step, and they make it back to Percy’s apartment by one o’clock.  Sally is waiting there with tomato and mozzarella sandwiches on sourdough bread.  Annabeth tells herself that if she could eat one thing for the rest of her life, this would be it.

“So, Annabeth,” says Sally, “are you looking at any colleges yet?”  Annabeth nods and puts down her sandwich.  

“I’d really like to go back to CalTech and study architecture,” she tells Sally, wiping her olive-oil covered fingers on her napkin.

“Hey, me too!” Percy says like it’s a huge coincidence.  "Well, not the architecture part."

 

That night, they all watch Return of the King together on the TV in the living room.  Sally makes tea (lemon ginger for Percy, chamomile for her, and peppermint for Annabeth), and Annabeth holds it in both her hands, not really caring that it’s burning her palms.  She looks down at Percy’s mug, which has a line of elegant script around the rim.  Annabeth is pretty sure it’s Elvish.

Percy’s fingers are wrapped around his mug, long and narrow, the knuckles on his left hand split.  He’d told her about that, the time (two days ago) he punched a guy in the face for harassing a girl on the street.  He blows gently on his tea and takes a sip, eyes focused on the screen.  One shock of black hair is curving down over his right eyebrow. 

Annabeth feels like she’s been punched.  

When Percy notices her watching him instead of the screen, he gestures back towards the TV like “why aren’t you watching this?!”  Annabeth grins and turns back to the movie.

They all cheer when Gollum falls into Mount Doom.  

After the movie’s over, they toast marshmallows over the gas burners on the stove. 

“This is sad,” Percy says matter-of-factly as he slides a lukewarm and only slightly mushy marshmallow onto a graham cracker.  Annabeth is laughing too hard to respond, so she just nods, covering her mouth with her hand.  When Percy bites into the makeshift s’more (“We haven’t got any chocolate, so we’ll have to use chocolate ice cream.”), he winces and his eyes go wide.  He blinks rapidly.

“What?” Annabeth asks, still giggling.  There are now tears in Percy’s eyes.

“Brain freeze,” he croaks, swallowing hard.  Annabeth laughs even harder after that.

 

They have to pack in both of the Hobbit movies the next day, because Annabeth’s flight is early morning on Friday.  It rains, anyway, and Sally goes out for lunch with her boyfriend Paul, so Percy and Annabeth are alone most of the day, with the rain thundering on the windows.  Percy makes some of the best hot chocolate Annabeth has ever had.

“So,” he says as they sit cross-legged on his bed, facing each other, “which movie was your favorite, out of the trilogy?”  Annabeth sighs, wrinkling her nose and staring at the ceiling.

“You know, I think it’d have to be the Two Towers,” she tells him, sipping from her mug.  There might be cocaine in this hot chocolate, it’s that good.

“Hey, mine too!” Percy crows.  He pumps his fist in the air and Annabeth laughs because he has whipped cream on his nose.  

“You have a little,” she gestures to her own nose, and Percy goes cross-eyed trying to find it.  “Here, let me just --”  Before Annabeth knows what she’s doing, she’s reached out and swiped the cream from Percy’s nose and stuck her finger in her mouth.  Percy raises an eyebrow.

“That cannot be sanitary, Chase,” Percy says solemnly.  “You’re probably going to catch, like, nose salmonella.”

“Shut up, that doesn’t exist,” Annabeth laughs.  

Percy smiles lopsidedly, but concedes, “Nah, it’s not.”

 

Percy insists on seeing Annabeth to the airport on Friday.  He hails them a taxi and spends most of the ride with his arm around her, eyes on her face, as if he’s trying to memorize it.  Annabeth just watches him do so, commits to memory the exact curve of his eyebrows, the sharp line of his jaw, the flecks of blue in those green eyes.  

They must look quite strange to the cabbie: two teenage kids, just staring at each other in the back seat.  The cabbie clears his throat when they get to the airport and takes forever giving Percy the change.  Annabeth thinks he’s hoping Percy will get fed up and tell him to keep it, but if he is, he gets no such luck.  Percy just waits.

The terminal is fairly empty; the only other people in it are a tall, African-American boy and a blonde girl with purple streaks in her hair and black combat boots.  They’re sitting next to each other and tapping curved wooden sticks on their thighs.

Annabeth turns to Percy.  He looks down at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want,” she says, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder.  Percy shrugs.

“I want,” he tells her.  She can feel herself blushing slightly, but she ignores it and sits down in one of the notoriously uncomfortable molded plastic chairs.  He sits down next to her, folding himself in half.

Percy’s fingers find hers and lace through them.  It feels extremely natural to hold his hand, so she does.

When they announce boarding for Annabeth’s flight, Percy stands with her and hands her a wrapped gift.

“What’s this?” she asks, genuinely startled.  She didn’t think of bringing Percy a gift when she came here, and now he’s giving her one.  He shrugs again.

“I dunno.  I just . . . wanted to get you something,” Percy says, running a hand through his hair.  Annabeth surges forward and hugs him, wrapping her arms around his ribcage (because that’s as high as she can reach) and resting her head against his collarbone.  It takes a second, but he wraps his arms around her shoulders.  

“I really have to go board,” Annabeth says into Percy’s t-shirt, “but promise me you’ll come visit in December when it’s time to go see the last Hobbit movie.”  She can feel Percy shrug.

“I don’t know, wise girl,” he says, voice cracking a little, “I don’t really like airplanes.”  Annabeth draws back and looks at him.

“What?”

“I hate flying.  Have since I was a kid,” he tells her, and then she really has to go, and he kisses her on the cheek as she dashes for the gate.  
She’s seated next to a twenty-something woman who’s reading a Neil Gaiman novel.  She resists the urge to ask her about it, and turns to the wrapped gift Percy gave her instead.  It takes about two seconds to tear off the paper, but when she looks inside, it’s a thin white-silver chain with a delicate replica of the Evenstar pendant on it.  She turns toward the airport -- and yes, there he is, leaning against the huge windows.  He’s looking for her, but she sees him first, and only then does she have to blink back tears.  

 

The flight back home is even worse than the flight to New York.  Annabeth listens to Taylor Swift’s entire discography and draws a terrible self-portrait on her cocktail napkin, and then starts reading the Harry Potter series again.  The woman next to her finishes her novel and then sleeps for the rest of the flight.  

Her dad is waiting at baggage claim with a sign.

“Hey, Dad,” Annabeth says, reaching for her bag.  He takes it from her and hugs her briefly, turning away before she can register what he’d done.  

“How was your trip?” her dad asks as they walk to the car.  

“It was really fun,” she tells him. “I’m really glad I went.  I have a couple new recipes for Lena to try out.”  Sally had written down some of her personal favorite recipes and given them to Annabeth as a goodbye gift.  The little booklet is nestled securely in Annabeth’s backpack, and it has the recipes for the waffles that happen to be blue, the wonderful tomato and mozzarella sandwiches, and that amazing hot chocolate.  Annabeth’s dad smiles, eyebrows raised like he’s startled.

“That’s great, honey!” he says.  He probably thinks she’s making an effort to get along with Lena, even though she’s not.

 

Lena doesn’t like the recipes.  She flips through the booklet with an expression of badly-hidden distaste.

“You don’t like them?” Annabeth asks.  Lena shrugs.

“They could be decent, if I changed them up a little.  They’re just . . . they’re all so _fattening_ ,” she says, closing the booklet and handing it back to Annabeth.

“Changed them up, like -- use dairy-free mozzarella?” Annabeth says dubiously.  It’s like Lena wants to ruin everything delicious in the world.

“Yes.  It’s so much better for you, Annie, I wish you’d reconsider --” Lena starts, but Annabeth cuts her off.

“Don’t call me Annie.”  She climbs the spiral staircase to her room (that’s the one good thing about this house: it’s got an iron spiral staircase, right in the middle of the living room) and stows the booklet in her top desk drawer.  

The box with the Evenstar necklace is lying open on her desk, right next to a reading analysis of The Catcher in the Rye.  Annabeth unclips the lobster-claw clasp and puts it around her neck, tucking it under the collar of her shirt.  This is one thing she wants to keep secret from New York -- something that’s just hers, and Percy’s, and no one else’s.

There’s an emptiness, Annabeth finds, being home but without Percy here.  It’s not like she’s incomplete, because she is, but it’s like there’s supposed to be someone next to her who isn’t.

She meets Thalia for coffee at The Bistro, a tiny, New York-style breakfast place on the main road.  Their coffee is okay, but their sticky buns are incredible.

“Annabeth!” Thalia calls from her seat at a table on the sidewalk.  Annabeth nods to show she’s heard her, then crosses the street at a half-jog, waving to the cars that let her through.

Thalia looks amazing in a thigh-length black tunic, belted at her tiny waist, with gray leggings underneath.  She’s got combat boots on her feet; a black ring on her right middle finger and another on her left; her black hair is streaked with blue; no matter how much time she spends in the sun, her skin stays milky white, and the freckles over her nose only multiply; her cat-eye sunglasses hide the vibrant blue of her eyes.  She stands to hug Annabeth, who relishes the tight squeeze her best friend gives her.

“I haven’t seen you in _forever_.  What’s going on with you?  Where the hell have you been?  You look great,” Thalia says, all in a rush, sitting back down and gesturing for Annabeth to do the same.

“I met this guy at CalTech,” Annabeth says, stealing a forkful of Thalia’s sticky bun and popping it in her mouth.  “And then I went to New York to visit him.  He’s really nice.”  Thalia’s eyebrows look like they’re trying to escape her face, they’re raised so high.

“You went to New York to visit a _guy_?” Thalia asks disbelievingly.  Annabeth nods, ducking behind her curls.  She hears Thalia laugh.  “What’s his name, then?”

“Percy,” Annabeth mutters.  

“You’ll have to introduce me if he ever comes over here,” Thalia says, and Annabeth nods, a flush still high on her cheeks.

 

The fall semester of Annabeth’s senior year goes by really fast.  She excels in history and does fairly well in everything else.  Her dyslexia doesn’t screw her up as badly as it has in previous years, but she’s still struggling with it.  She does really well in marine biology.

Percy texts her regularly, often sending her goofy pictures from his school and of his friends.  They Skype, as well, often not even speaking, just doing their respective homework assignments and occasionally asking for help from the other person.  Thalia teases Annabeth about it constantly, but Annabeth refuses to be embarrassed.  She’s allowed to have male friends, right?

Annabeth applies to five colleges (per her school’s request) and gets accepted to four.  CalTech is one of them. 

Christmastime comes around and, like every year, Annabeth laments the lack of snow.  It feels like August did in New York, and she’s kind of miserable about it.  She puts fake snow in her windows and turns the air conditioning on high to make herself feel better. 

Lena starts making super health-conscious Christmas puddings and completely ruins gingerbread forever.  Annabeth is personally offended by the taste.

Her Skype conversations with Percy only make her jealous: he constantly remarks on the snowfall expectations for the night, and one day he leaves her like six messages because he’s got a snowday.  His apartment is full of warm, Christmassy lights, and there’s a tree in the corner, and Sally is always in the background making some other delicious thing, and Annabeth can hear the Barra MacNeils’ Christmas album all the time.

“I’m going to come live with you,” she complains one evening before dinner.  Percy nods.

“That can be arranged,” he says seriously, and Annabeth allows herself a brief smile.

“I’m not serious, you idiot,” she tells him affectionately, “but I hate it here.  It’s so bright and non-Christmassy.  My stepmother is making muesli downstairs.  She is making a tofurky for Christmas dinner.  Her gingerbread is low-fat and gluten free.  This is hell.”  Percy has adopted a worried expression.

“That sounds really awful.  I’m sorry, Annabeth,” he says, legitimately mournful.  She sighs.

“Yeah.  Anyway, what’s your English homework like tonight?”

Annabeth wishes Percy would go see the last Hobbit movie with her -- it’s coming out tomorrow, the seventeenth, and she’s probably going to go alone.  

Late that night, Annabeth sneaks downstairs and makes hot chocolate from Sally’s recipe, curling up on the couch and watching the first Lord of the Rings movie.  She savors every last sip of the creamy, chocolatey drink, and lets herself pretend Percy is sitting next to her.

She wakes up on the morning of the seventeenth with her arm curved uncomfortably beneath her and her hair frizzy and knotted from sleeping on the couch.  Someone is knocking on the door, and the family dog, Wainwright, is going nuts at it, barking like his life depends on this moment.

“Coming!” Annabeth calls, yawning.  She pulls her hoodie closer around her (it’s chilly today) and shuffles toward the large oak door.  When it swings open, she finds that she has never been less tired.

“Hi,” Percy says, a lopsided smile on his face.  “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”  There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then Annabeth flings herself forward and hugs him, sending him staggering backward.

“Of course you woke me up, you complete idiot!”  She buries her face in his shoulder and grins.  

“I’m sorry!” he cries, hugging her back just as hard.  “Oh, hello, sir.”  Annabeth lets go of Percy and turns to see her father, standing there in a t-shirt and boxers, squinting into the sun.

“And you would be . . . ?” her dad asks groggily.  Percy smiles, completely wide awake.

“I’m Percy Jackson, sir.  I’m friends with your daughter from that, uh, that CalTech program last summer,” Percy says, holding out a hand.  Annabeth’s dad shakes it.

“Good to meet you, son.  I’m going to go back to bed now, though, if you don’t mind.”  Percy shakes his head vigorously.

“No, not at all, sir,” he says.  Annabeth’s dad’s eyebrows raise.

“Don’t call me sir.”  He shuffles away and up the stairs, and Annabeth turns to Percy.

“You’re here!” she cries excitedly, dragging him inside by the hand.  “I thought you hated flying?”

“I do,” Percy says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the floor, “but I, uh . . . I hate not seeing you more.  So.  There’s that.”  Annabeth feels her heart leap, but she just smiles and shows him the guest room.

They go and see the last Hobbit movie together that night.  Percy holds her hand through the whole thing, and Annabeth smiles throughout.  

When they get back to Annabeth’s house for dinner, they both choke down enough of Lena’s low-fat, gluten-free, dairy-free concoction to be polite, and then go up to Annabeth’s room to watch a movie on her computer.  They pick the Two Towers.

Percy kisses her when Treebeard and the Ents march for Isengard.  He tastes like Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Thalia wears a black ring on her right middle finger because she’s asexual, and another one on her left middle finger because she’s aromantic, if you were wondering. Which, you probably weren’t, but I wanted to say it because it isn’t explicitly stated.


End file.
